Destiny's Blood by Marie Bilodeau (best authors to read .TXT) 📗

CHAPTER 28

Thirty more of our ships have arrived, Colonel.”

Dunkat sat in his chair, no longer excited nor intrigued by the battle around him. He had it on good authority that the girl had been on the ugly ship, long swallowed by the shields of Mirial.

Dunkat had been tempted to order some of his ships to follow, if for no other reason than to relieve some of his annoyance, but he remembered what the shields of the First Star did to wayward ships that did not originate from Mirial.

Instead, he fought a meaningless battle with meaningless ships to dull his anger. It did help a bit.

“Minister Noro is on the line,” a young, useless soldier reported. His features were pale, as drawn as a well-made army bed sheet. Dunkat hated him for his uselessness. He hated all of them.

“Patch it in to my private office.” His long strides quickly brought him to his small room, equipped with the latest in holo-screen technologies. The small light on the table indicated a communication was waiting.

Waiting impatiently, Dunkat thought. He stood by the viewing screen, ignoring the light as he stared at the stars, looking away from the purple beast that clouded his vision on the right. A ship exploded not far from him, but his ship’s energy shields were strong. He could withstand twenty more hits like that.

But not the shields of Mirial.

The console beeped, trying now to catch his attention through sound. Dunkat ignored it still, staring at the stars — so far, so beautiful, yet none as stunning as the First Star. He had not seen it in almost twenty years.

“I know you can hear me, Dunkat,” Noro’s voice boomed into the room. Dunkat did not turn, making a mental note to reprimand the communications officer for overriding the voice circuit without his authorization. Minister or not, Noro held no rank as long as he wasn’t on this ship.

The simpler the system of rule, the better the results.

“Your actions led to the destruction of one of the oldest tunnels, Colonel,” Noro spat the title. Dunkat waited as patiently and quietly as the faraway stars. He was already well aware of Noro’s plans. He had, after all, been planning for a long time.

“And led to the destruction of a ship bearing royalty from Thalos, making an already shaky alliance even more expensive. And all for a little revenge, Dunkat.”

“Get it over with, Noro,” Dunkat said, his anger piercing through his pretence of peace and shattering it. He turned away from the sky and stared at the lighted comm unit.

He could feel Noro smile and he hated the man. Hated him for his pettiness, for his lack of foresight, for his small-mindedness. Revenge? Was that truly all they thought he sought, when they had also witnessed the wild destructive powers of the First Star and what it could mean to their people?

“You’re relieved of duty and rank, and are to be tried for a higher offence in Solaria.” Noro paused, and Dunkat knew the worst was to come. “And you’re forbidden from using the name Groosh until further notice. I’m sure your father would agree, it is better not to soil his name by associating it with your shame.”

Dunkat clenched his jaw, turned around and punched the view screen. The skin of his knuckles broke and blood trickled on the screen. He kept his fist there, breathing deeply. Droplets of cold sweat ran down his back.

Noro was already gone, he knew, satisfied that he had crushed him. He looked at the blood on his own knuckles — his blood, his father’s blood. It bore a hero’s name, which was his own. Following the blood’s dripping trail led him to the sight of one of the Mirial ships. It was small, worn, and dead in space.

He lowered his fist and straightened his shirt. The ship was just outside their energy shields, blue flickers bouncing off of it.

It was a useless relic to any man but one hunting the past.

i

The air shimmered around them and coated them, the Victory gliding effortlessly through the sky. Yoma remained in the captain’s chair and Gobran held onto the back of it protectively, as though he feared Yoma might fall or vanish. Now no longer worried about her sister, Yoma found she could relax and enjoy the comfort of the Victory and Gobran’s company.

She swore he smelled of old maps, the dust on his jacket reminding her of the thousands of old parchments he had meticulously kept.

“What about your maps, Captain?” Yoma asked him. It was good to hear some sound, even if it was only her own voice.

“Those maps were nice, but I have so many more on Mirial, Lady.” His eyes twinkled with such excitement that she didn’t even bother telling him again to call her Yoma. “On Mirial, I had the oldest maps, the rarest and the most accurate, plotting much, much farther than even Solari has, and maps showing Mirial as perceived through various worlds.”

His excitement was contagious and Yoma found herself smiling at him and sitting straighter. She wondered why he believed his maps would even still be in one piece, or why the planet named after its sun would still exist, but she held her tongue. If nothing else, her own visions showed her that something yet lived near the doomed star.

The captain continued, gesturing widely as he described various maps, materials and mythologies. “I even have one that shows the journeys of the ether creatures. There’s the Lorpas—which actually continue to live, despite popular belief, but they’re very shy; and the Kilita, a nasty little folk, really. And my most beautiful one spans four entire walls in a very large room, and shows where the Berganda have dwelt and dwell still, and the impact they have on the plants around them.”

Yoma smiled at the mention of the Berganda, thinking of Josmere, picturing her friend’s quick smile. She could smell sap. Why could she smell sap on a ship? She looked around her, her smile